The instant he had the pair trotting again, he glanced around—and swore. “We’re never going to make it home.”
Anne glanced at him; he nodded to the right, to where rain was sweeping across the fields beneath heavy, iron-gray clouds.
Thunder, low and menacing, rumbled up and over them. It wasn’t that late, yet a blackness deeper than night was closing in.
Reggie swore again. Purley with its old inn was behind them, too far to go back; Croydon with its posting houses was too far ahead. He racked his brains…
Here he was, alone with the lady who would be his wife, and a storm was threatening. The initiative lay waiting to be seized…
“Croham Hurst!” Jaw firming, he looked ahead, to the right, searching for the line of hedges marking the lane. “There’s a nice inn, small but comfortable—we can put up there.”
Anne nodded. The wind had picked up; the scent of rain lay heavy on the air.
Large drops were falling when they pulled into the inn yard. An ostler came running, head ducked against the weather. Reggie jumped down, grabbed Anne, and lifted her down as the ostler hurried the curricle away. Hands locked, they raced for the tiny porch, reaching it just as the heavens opened and the rain came bucketing down.
They both turned and looked back at the sheer sheet of driving rain, then looked at each other— and laughed.
Still smiling, they entered the inn; the innkeeper, a small rotund man with a cheery country face, came bustling up to greet them.
“Well, now! You’re lucky you’re out of that. Turned proper nasty, it has.”
“Indeed.” Reggie couldn’t stop smiling as they shrugged out of their coats. “My wife and I were visiting friends at Caterham—seems we left it too late to start back. Do you have a large chamber we might use for the night?”
“Oh, indeed, sir! Ma’am.”
The man bobbed a bow at Anne; he didn’t register the odd look on her face as she struggled to decide how to react.
“Our main chamber’s at your disposal. All ready it is—I’ll just get Bessie to light the fire, so all will be comfy when you go up.” With an expansive gesture, the man threw open a door revealing a snug parlor. “We don’t get much custom on nights like this and we’re off the main way, so we’ll have your dinner ready in a trice. You won’t be disturbed in here.”
Anne smiled a trifle weakly and entered. The instant she heard the door shut, she swung around and faced Reggie. “Wife?”
His expression as inconsequential as ever, he shrugged. “Jumping the gun a trifle, but it seemed wiser all around.”
She didn’t know what to answer to that. Before she could form any sensible argument, he asked her about the hurdles the Caverlocks might face in reasserting guardianship over Benjy.
Somehow that discussion, and other topics that flowed from it, lasted through the interval until their dinner was served, and through the dinner itself—a nice assortment of hearty country fare—until the moment when, the dishes having been cleared and tea served, a gust of wind howled about the inn and ferociously rattled the shutters.
“Oooh!” Anne shivered. “That sounds positively gothic.” She paused, then added, “I can still hear the rain pounding and lashing.”
In the armchair opposite, Reggie grimaced. He rose. “I just hope it stops before morning, or we might be mired here for a day or more.” Taking her hand, he drew her to her feet. “Actually, I was thinking, once we get back to London we should take a trip north to Calverton Chase.”
She glanced at him as he ushered her out of the door. “Why?”
“Well,” Reggie replied, guiding her to the stairs, “aside from having a little chat with your brother, there’s the undeniable fact that announcing our engagement just as the ton returns to town en masse is bound to set us in the eye of the storm. Far better, to my mind, to escape before we’re stuck.” Gaining the upper corridor, he took her hand, interlaced his fingers with hers. “Don’t you think?”
She glanced up at him, at the faint lift to his brows, looked past the superficial lightness of his face, into the seriousness of his eyes. He was asking far more than the obvious; they both knew it. “Is that a proposal?”
He frowned. “Actually, I saw it as a trifle further advanced than a proposal—we covered proposing before.” He met her gaze; his brows rose a fraction. “A plan of action, perhaps?”
She had to smile. “Very well.” She squeezed his fingers lightly. “We’ll head to the Chase just as soon as we get Benjy’s affairs in order.”
“Good.” Reggie turned her toward the door to the large chamber over the front of the inn. “We can time the notice to the Gazette accordingl
y.”
He set the door wide, and she entered. Without a second thought. Without any of the missish hesitation or nervousness she’d expected would assail her. It was as if they were already married in fact, as if the ceremony were merely incidental, a superficial recognition of a union that had already in truth begun.
The room was as cozy as the innkeeper had promised. Dimity curtains covered the windows; matching hangings were gathered at the corners of a large four-poster bed. The covers were turned down; the pillows plumped high. The fire leaping in the grate threw warmth into the room; the flames sent flickering fingers of light dancing over the scene.